Like Light To Flies
by midnight-lykos
Summary: What would have happened if Darwin Tremor had had a little longer? Just a half an hour perhaps? I decided to find out...


_Darwin 's eyes widened at the sight of his two dead brothers. But they weren't dead. They couldn't be. The Tremor's were invincible. They were Aryan. They were pure! They would get up any moment now…they would. It may have been slow, it may have been painful, but they would get up. He was sure of it. Positive, in fact. Was he secretly being filmed by a tiny camera in the corner of the room? A video for America's Funniest Home Videos perhaps? Were they simply trying to record him shedding a tear and publicly humiliate him? Nah, this plan was far too complex for those two. Then what was taking them so god damn long?! He was starting to lose his patience. They were just holding one of their pathetic and immature contests. Sure. That was it. Let's see who could play dead the longest and piss of Darwin the most. He'd never be so happy to find out they'd decided to pull a prank during a hit…if only they'd get up. However, the men remained motionless. And he knew, in that split second, right there, right then, Darwin Tremor knew that his brothers were playing no game. _

Behold our beloved revels in tragedy (in tragedy)  
Self-denying avarice for bloodshed   
Behold hypocrite 

_Jeeves sat there, his torso held steady in the sitting position by the now silent chainsaw. His bright blue eyes were glazed over, a thin film hiding their old shine. His rigid Mohawk had begun to wilt under the hot and humid conditions. One hand was clenched tightly into a fist, the other had had it's nerves severed by a ruthless bullet. Their tightly strapped Kevlar vests and random wrist and arm pads had proven to be useless. Nothing could have stopped those bullets to Lester's neck and only steel could have saved Jeeves's life from the jagged, whirring blade of his trusted weapon. Lester lay eagle spread, his green eyes firmly shut, sparing the eldest Tremor the grimace he would give if he had to look into them one more time. His comically oversized Nazi fighter pilot goggles were still in one piece, reflecting the florescent lighting straight into Darwin's eyes. The multiple neck wounds were still trickling away, slowly yet surely. Each tiny stream reached the floor and stained the horrid carpet a colour that now repulsed the eldest Tremor. But not enough to put him off revenge. _

Those who run will be burned

Those who run will be burned

Those who run will be burned

Those who run will be burned 

_His steely gaze swivelled down to the cuffed Sir Ivy. He was gripping his machetes tightly, his knuckles would have turned white, had they already not been that pale creamy colour already. Those thin black goggles were hiding the direction of his glare, but surely Ivy could feel it? Feel the pain that was building within Darwin. Feel those shudders of barely being to control one's own body. He felt something, that much was positive. And Darwin was going to ensure that he felt a lot more before the end of the day. The mocha coloured skin was slowly seeping sweat, dampening his t-shirt. The leather jacket he wore suddenly felt like lead, dragging him down. The jeans weighed his legs to the floor and he was incapable of standing up. It wasn't fear. It couldn't be fear. Sir Ivy didn't feel fear. He was above that. He was the four C's. Cool. But the room seemed to be heating up. Calm. Then when did his pupils feel the urge to dilute? Collected. His nerves were scattered, his eye twitching occasionally. Confident. He was confident alright, confident this was not going to end well. _

Devoutly wished for blinded eyes  
This tragedy's like light to flies  
This seems to suit you better bleeding out the eyes (bleeding out the eyes)  
hope's left in chain suspension,  
Holding onto lies to make the truth 

_Darwin's military boot had been quick and Ivy had no time to react. The steel cap broke a few ribs and the sound of the bone cracking could be heard over the enraged Neo-Nazi's cries of anger. He wasn't even forming coherent words, let alone sentences. They were simply bursts of suffering, erupting from his mouth the same way that Ivy's bullets had erupted from his gun. Howls of pain some would call them. Cries of anguish to others. Whatever they were, they would haunt Ivy's dreams for the rest of his life if he ever managed to escape. But judging from Darwin's brutal footwork, this was not to be. His onslaught was rapid but filled with so much emotion, he missed his targets frequently. It didn't seem to matter though. His bloody rampage wasn't being fuelled by the desire for cash this time. No, this fuel was far more potent, he felt he would go on all night. He had long ago dropped his machetes to the ground and there they lay, forgotten. When Ivy had attempted to grab one, he felt his hand break under Darwin's refusal. He lifted a heavily clad foot up and paused, taking aim._

Behold our beloved revels in tragedy (in tragedy)  
Self-denying avarice for bloodshed  
Behold hypocrite 

_Sir Ivy had seen attack coming and in some futile attempt to stop it, he shook his head weakly. But Darwin paid no attention. And in that swift second, he was no longer a man. The entire organ had been crushed, a brutal method of ensuring Ivy would never have children. But that wasn't enough. No, he was far from finished. His tightly clenched fist broke Ivy's nose, blood spurting from the two tiny nostrils. Darwin could feel Ivy's eye under the next punch and he was sure that that would be swollen by the time of the autopsy. But eventually, he did pause, stepping back slightly to glance at the half finished job. Ivy had tears streaking his face and he was sobbing. And every sob he took, sent a shock wave of pain through his chest, which was demanding medical attention. And that merely induced more sobs. The blood around his groin was slowly seeping down his legs, tinting his jeans. A split, throbbing lip with twitching periodically, the crimson liquid forming small pools at the corners of his mouth. 'I see red', took a whole new meaning at that moment. Darwin reached down to a near by guard, long since dead. The look on his motionless face was one of pure surprise. No one had seen the Tremors coming. They never did. And now, they never would again. A lone Tremor, no matter how angry or enraged with an ever burning fuel, could hope to accomplish the work of three. _

Those who run will be burned

Those who run will be burned

Those who run will be burned

Those who run will be burned 

_Darwin tugged the cigarette unceremoniously out of his mouth. The man hadn't had the chance to even light it and the thin white skin contained not a single wrinkle. He straightened himself up, producing a Zippo from his back pocket. He held it close, cupping the dying flame, he would need to steal another one of these soon. The cigarette released a ribbon of smoke and he was satisfied, returning the lighter back to it's home. He inhaled, the breath sending down it's supply of tar and rocket fuel to his displeased lungs. He sighed with relief as he felt that searing pain which told him had taken in far too much for any normal man. But the pain felt good. It was a reminder, a reminder that although his brothers may have left the earth, he was still here, still alive and kicking. On the next puff, he blew the smoke out of his nose, reminding Ivy of the clichéd angry bull that he had watched on cartoons when he was a child. And suddenly, a warning from his mother came back to taunt him. Don't mess with the bull young man, you'll get the horns. And he truly had done it this time. Nothing could have prepared the man for the Tremor brothers. A nuclear bomb shelter couldn't have saved him. They truly were suicidal speed freaks. Neo-Nazi bastards that society frowned upon for their inability to conform to the norm. One last draw and Darwin casually flicked the cigarette into a near by set of curtains. He ignored the fact that the cigarette had not died and eagerly resumed dealing out the pain that no other man but he himself could withstand. _

Devoutly wished for blinded eyes  
This tragedy's like light to flies  
This seems to suit you better bleeding out the eyes (bleeding out the eyes)  
hope's left in chain suspension,  
Holding onto lies to make the truth 

_Darwin tore off his goggles, revealing his grassy green eyes. He held his German Officer's Pistol steady, taking up a new target. It was situated directly opposite the first. His finger twitched and the gun shot rung out. Ivy's second knee cap was destroyed and his leg writhed about in pain and anguish. Darwin laughed, his eyes were glinting now. He would not admit, but that glistening was the product of tears. Tears of guilt most likely. Perhaps it was guilt which heated up his blood that seared his aching veins. Guilt which was sending his heart racing. Guilt which pounded his head, refusing to leave him. Guilt that he had convinced the two that this was the best life for them. That this was the only life for the three brothers. He spat on Ivy's dying body, a yellow glob landed on the man's chest. By now the curtains where on fire and the flames were licking higher and higher. He would have to leave soon, despite his desire to make the beating last all night, he had to leave. The fire would spread and Sir Ivy would be dead in a good ten, twenty minutes. Darwin rose the gun once more. Ivy's eyes were begging for this final bullet. The bullet to end all the hurt. The bullet to end all bullets for him. He almost put the gun away, but he wasn't that stupid._

Devoutly wished for blinded eyes  
This tragedy's like light to flies  
This seems to suit you better bleeding out the eyes (bleeding out the eyes)  
hope's left in chain suspension,  
Holding onto lies to make the truth  
This seems to suit you better bleeding out the eyes (bleeding out the eyes)  
hope's left in chain suspension,  
Holding onto lies to make the truth

_The bullet passed straight through Ivy's head, decorating the wall behind him in a new colour, essence of brain. Darwin's tiered arm fell to his side. He leant his head back, exposing his unshaven throat. He was nearly smiling, nearly. The gun fell to the floor with a gentle thud. The smell of smoke filled his nostrils. He could swear the wisps of the eye watering gas were slowly making their way to his brain, numbing his senses. And now, more than ever, they needed desperately to be numbed. He had never felt such a strong desire to be immune to physical and mental pain as he did now. But his relief would soon come. In his angst ridden state, he had not heard the pounding footsteps, approaching quickly. He had been deaf to the yells of orders being exchanged between the men. He had not seen the door begin to open as he dealt the final bullet. And as he closed his eyes, he missed the storming of the FBI squad into the room. Maybe he had heard the sound of approaching doom. Maybe he had caught snatches of the conversation that planned his death. Perhaps he had seen, out of the corner of his well trained eye, that blood splattered door slowly, gently, push open. And maybe, just ,maybe he knew fully well those men weren't here to give him a congratulatory medal with a complimentary pat on the back. But maybe he had simply chosen to ignore it all. Maybe surrender would be easier than carrying on. It was all unclear, uncertain. However, one thing was for certain, Darwin Tremor had not felt the bullet which Agent Messner had sent flying through his neck._

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_A/N: The song is by Trivium, named, Like Light To Flies. For Smokin' Aces fans, you'll know it as the song that the Tremor brothers are listening to as they pull up in their car._


End file.
